Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [122]
Proving he didn’t see Priss as a threat, Murray looked out the side window. “Yes. I thought you might.”
Trace considered things, and decided that Murray wouldn’t shoot Priss in his own car. Too many complications waited down that road: DNA evidence, false registration on the vehicle, even the clean up.
No, if Murray truly felt susceptible and chose to shoot anyone, he’d shoot Trace first. And knowing that, accepting that—at least for right now—Priss was safe enough, made it possible for him to keep up appearances.
Beside him, Alice closed her eyes and fisted her hands. She looked ready to come unhinged at any moment. Murray had bullied her one time too many, leaving her fragile and emotionally drained. Trace wanted to reassure her, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
He glanced back at Priss and, though she smiled, he saw a taut expression on her face.
No fear or panic for her. When most would be falling apart, Priss reacted as he did—with cold anger.
Damn it, he did not want to admire that about her. He was trained, and she was not.
But in this situation, fear and panic could do her in. Rage, on the other hand, just might see her through this as long as she could keep her wits. His money was on Priss. With any luck, she’d follow his lead and they’d come out of this unscathed.
“We should be there in a few minutes.” Trace glanced around the area again. Jackson had confirmed the code and would be within range, but he wasn’t visible. A good thing, that.
Ohio lacked a human-trafficking task force but, to put a dent in the crime, county police were working with the federal law-enforcement agency, state and local police, and several social organizations. Through higher political contacts, Trace had an in with the county executive. That meant, with Jackson’s coordination of everything, the right people should show up at the right time to shut down Murray’s operation, ferret out all the involved parties, and keep Jackson and Trace clear of it.
There was no one on the street and very little traffic when they reached the factory a few minutes later. This time, several cars were parked in the secured lot and, off to the side by the loading docks, an old semi idled.
Trace knew what that semi meant, and judging by Alice’s face, so did she. Priss hadn’t yet noticed, and Trace prayed that she wouldn’t.
“You get out first, Trace. Take Alice with you. Priscilla and I will follow.”
While watching for a trap, Trace opened his seat belt. He touched Alice’s arm to get her moving. “Ready?”
Tears swam in her eyes but she nodded and left the car.
Near the hood, Trace moved in front of her just in case anyone decided to take a shot. They waited for Murray and Priss to join them.
Though he wasn’t overt about it, Murray kept the gun on Priss as they exited through her door. Priss held something in her hand. It looked like a pink cell phone, but Trace knew better. Damn it, if she tried anything at all, it would precipitously set the chaos into motion.
While Murray held her close and said something low into her ear, Trace caught her eye and ever so slightly shook his head to warn her off.
She winked at him in return.
Having witnessed the exchange, Alice muttered, “Oh, God.”
“Quiet.” Trace moved forward, anxious to divert Murray away from Priss. “Why don’t I go in first, just in case it’s a trap?”
Alice grabbed his arm in silent protest.
Snickering, Murray said, “I don’t think so. You’ll stay where I can see you.” He slanted his gaze to Priss. “For everyone’s safety.”
Priss finally noticed the big idling truck, and her green eyes lit with fire. For a second there, she stared and looked ready to self-combust. But she shook off the emotion. “If it’s truly dangerous, then I think you’re right. I’d rather Trace say close. He is your bodyguard, right?”
Murray smiled at her. “Exactly.” He gestured with the gun toward the door near the semi.
As Trace led the way, he marveled that Murray—who was usually so astute—could believe Priss was that vacuous.
“Still no need for your gun?” Murray asked him.
“Not yet, no.” He glanced back